


Fetch

by Providentially_Demonic



Category: Mystery Skulls (Band), Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: AU, But also not, Gen, Hard to explain, Mythical Beings & Creatures, This is weird, kinda a major character death, straight-up bizarre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:12:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8734447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Providentially_Demonic/pseuds/Providentially_Demonic
Summary: They called them Fetch once upon a time, or doppelgangers, Perfect copies of people, and they always heralded as the death of the person they had come to mimic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/153816008228/you-are-a-hunter-of-mimics-you-study-them-locate) prompt on writing-prompt-s. All the thanks to TristanATK (Arthur-tristan-kingsman on tumblr) for helping me get through writing it.

It had been a busy time for him. Seventeen of the duplicates in one small town, the first time he had seen that many in one place. And never grouped so closely. It bore looking into.  
  
They called them Fetch once upon a time, or doppelgangers, Perfect copies of people, and they always heralded as the death of the person they had come to mimic.  
  
They were not wrong in that. Fetch did serve as a prelude to death, because they sapped the life force of those they chose to duplicate, causing a slow decline to a quiet death, if they did not stop… or were not stopped. It was almost kind, in a way— that quiet death, for the victims suffered little, fading until they went softly into the long night.  
  
They were predators, but not ones that killed in pain or terror, for it soured the life on which they fed. The few who had gone entirely wrong and thrived on that, he had come to quickly eliminate—  and now he stalked the quiet ones, watching and waiting for one of them to slip, to revert to the ways of the killer. He had come to know their habits well, when one prey was exhausted, they moved on to the next, always moving, always feeding.  
  
He was watching one, the one he thought might be the last in this place— though this one was a puzzle he could not fathom. He had found no person that he mimicked, no poor declining life, that this one fed upon. If there was one, and there had to have been—  for _where else_ would have come the human that called this fetch nephew, treated it as family— that prey was long gone.  
  
He could not sense it drawing life from the human it had mimicked, and he did not think that were possible. It shouldn’t have been possible. Mimic were predators, feeding on the very life essence of their prey.  
  
He should know, after all… He did the same, only borrowing enough of their life to keep himself fed while he hunted his next target. He was a hunter of his own kind, the remorseless one, he had heard himself called in fearful whispers.  
  
It had been tasked of him many, many ages ago, so long ago he could no longer count the years, and he would go on doing so until he was relieved or the stars burned out, whichever came first.  
  
So he found the human, outside of the one that called this Fetch family, closest to it and slipped easily into his place. The preteen would spend a few days— no more— ill at home, while he found out the truth of this Fetch who did not feed before he ended it.  
  
At least that was the plan.  
  
Right up until the young Fetch (and he was _young,_ not just as the human he pretended to be, but in and of himself, barely grown out of infancy) laid eyes on him. Terror caused him to shake in every limb, and his face had gone bloodless, but he stood right up to him and, small fists trembling, demanded, “G-give him b-back! Y-you— You _can’t_ h-have him! He’s— H-he’s been through enough! Give him back! _Please!”_

Startled and annoyed that he’d been outed so quickly, he still couldn’t help but feel some amusement at the whelpling’s determined defiance. “Maybe, “ he cadged. He would release the boy, but this little one didn’t need to know that. His fear for him would be a great motivator. _“If_ you tell me what I want to know.”

Tears welled in the amber eyes facing him. “A-anything, just give him back to m— his f-family, they can’t live without him, they l-love him too much!”

The whelpling’s hesitation was telling. “Is he your prey, then? The one you feed from?”

 _ **“No!”**_ The horror was very real in that protest. “I would _never!_ He’s my friend, m-my best friend. I c-could never do that!”

He wasn’t lying. He would have been able to discern the lie. “So, then tell me, where is your prey? Where is the boy whose face you wear?”

The young Fetch froze, his eyes skating sideways. “What boy?”

“My release of this boy depends on your answers, little one. I suggest you answer me truthfully.”

Thin shoulders tensed, drew up like a shield against the world. “He’s dead.”

He’d suspected as much, but having the confirmation was something. “I see. Why haven’t you moved on then, and found new prey? Why are you still pretending to be him?”

This time his flinch was full-bodied, shaken eyes snapping up to meet his. “I’m _not!”_ The denial was breathless, and full of a conviction he could not ignore. “I’m not pretending! I’m Arthur Kingsmen and I will be until the day I die!”

“You are not—”

He was cut off by a sharp gesture. _“I am!_ I’ve been him for twelve years and I’ll be him forever.”

Twelve years, that was impossible… No one had made prey linger that long! None had ever survived so long without prey either! “How?” he demanded.

The Fetch that called himself Arthur Kingsman with such conviction shrunk into himself, his voice gone soft. “He was only a baby, barely old enough to sit up by himself, but he was sick— dying. I could feel it from the moment I came into this town. I was going to impersonate his father, but I-I didn’t know how to be a father, I barely knew how to be a— a _person_. I thought, I— I’ll just be him for a night, drain him enough that his dying would be easy and comfortable, not sick and in pain. It didn’t work.” His breath hitched. “He woke up. He looked up at me and smiled… and then j-just… d-died before I could even start to become him.”

“And?”

“I panicked, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t… I-I couldn’t just leave him lying there. I took him outside and buried him under the big tree in the yard. And I heard his father and uncle wake up and go into a panic because he wasn’t in his crib. And hearing their pain, their fear… I couldn’t…” His voice broke on a sob. “I finished burying him and then changed into him… I think— I don’t know _exactly_ w-what I thought. That I wouldn’t be there long, maybe, just long enough to let them find me and then run… but when they found me sitting in the yard— their relief, their love… it was all I could do to take it all in. It was more heady than any life force I’d ever tasted, and… I w-wanted more. It was better than I could imagine. That’s what I’ve been feeding on, and it’s all I need. I d-don’t need to f-feed any other way and I won’t. T-they’re my friends, my family, now.”

For the first time since he had become a hunter of his own kind, he was completely without words. He had never heard of such a thing. That this whelpling… this _boy_ had found a way to not only survive, but thrive for twelve years without a host to mimic…? That he had found some way to sustain himself without drawing on the life force of said host…?

And the innate sense that allowed him to hunt down his own kind was saying every word was utterly and entirely true.

For a moment, a world that had been black and white now faded to shades of gray, and for the life of him, he did not know what to do.

The whelpli— _no_ , the _boy,_ Arthur— looked up at him pleadingly. “Please, I-I told you the truth. Ev-everything. Please, let Lewis go. H-he’s my friend, and I— I can’t let you kill him.”

He snapped back into focus. “You think you could take me, little one?”

Arthur quailed, but his word were painfully honest. “No, but I’d die trying, Anything to save Lewis from you.”

He could, oh, so easily kill this boy, this Fetch-who-was-not. But those soft grays were muting his edges, muddling what he thought he knew. He needed to get away from here, sort out his thoughts. “You will have him back by day’s end. I will not kill him. You have my word, you and his family will have him back fully unharmed.”

Arthur, holding his own shoulders in a death-grip, brightened. _“Thank you_ — thank you so much.”

He only nodded and turned to go.

The boy’s soft voice followed him, a faint whisper that still came to his ears as clearly as if they were spoken straight into his head. “You came to kill me, didn’t you? You’re _him_ … the remorseless one…?”

He did not turn back. “No. The remorseless one is no more.” For how could he not feel remorse, when it was all there in the form of a child that had learned a lesson that an entire race had not figured out?

He abandoned his form and his prey as soon as he was out of sight of the boy, finding refuge in a dark alley, a shadow among shadows, not bothering to take a form from the many he had claimed. His mind was in turmoil and he wanted nothing but to be alone and sort out his troubled thoughts. Without the things he had thought he had known, there were too many variables between the extremes he had known; far, far too many shades of gray.

A sound where there should have been none startled him. He found it by the faintest trace of a life, one that was already fading. He followed. Under a broken set of cement stairs, he found the source of the noise and the swiftly fading life. There had been three puppies in the litter, no more than a few days old. Now there was only one and it was succumbing to the same slow death that had claimed its siblings. What had happened to the mother, he did not know—  but there was a busy street nearby, and he could easily guess.

The barely living little thing made a pained sound and something stirred in a heart he thought long dulled to such feelings. Resting a formless appendage on the tiny creature’s head, he thought, that like Arthur, he could at least make it painless for the little thing. He couldn’t save it, but he could make its last moments ones that were not a struggle. It was hard compressing himself into the shape of a tiny pup, but he did, curling his body around the dying thing to offer it warmth even as he took the pain away. It settled against him with a sigh, and did not draw another breath.

The patter of rain startled him and he lifted his head. When had it started to rain?

A shadow crossed his face and he looked up at a damp human girl taking shelter under the awning that covered the crumbling steps that hid three dead puppies and one live Fetch in the shape of a puppy. A drip of water— _cold!_ — hit his nose, and the reactions of the form he wore took over, a displeased _yowp_ of sound coming from his throat.

A moment later he was staring into the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. “Oh, you poor things!” There were hands on him and the limp bodies beside him, checking for life, those blue eyes full of tears and bottom lip caught between teeth. The next thing he knew, he was tucked into a sweater, cradled there with a careful hand and the limp bodies of the puppies had been bundled into a scarf, held carefully in the other hand. The girl took off running down the street. She slammed through a glass door, plunked him down on a counter and demanded somebody save him.

Latex-gloved hands picked him up and he had to be glad that he could make such perfect copies, because he was subjected to the indignities of a medical examination as the girl excitedly babbled to the vet about finding him. She watched everything with bright, interested eyes, as the vet inserted an IV drip and took blood samples and did other unspeakable things to his tiny form.

“You did good,” The vet told the little girl with a smile and a pat on the head after she had stripped off the gloves she’d been wearing. “Much longer and this little one would have died too.”

An assistant came in, holding a small bottle and a blanket. Cradling him in the blanket, she inserted the nipple into his mouth. “There we go, little guy, let’s get something into you.”

The girl watched for a moment and then begged to help feed him. The vet nodded and helped the girl situate herself in a chair to hold him, careful of his IV, The girl chewed her bottom lip as she gave him the bottle again. Along with the milk, something else flowed into him, a wash of concern and caring as potent as anything he had ever tasted before. Was this what the whelp— _Arthur_ — had meant? He squirmed a little and looked up into her face. Her smile widened and the rush of emotion became three times as heady. _Oh…_

Arthur had the right idea after all.

He let the desires of his body take over and drank in the heady emotion of the girl with the milk.

When he could drink no more, the girl giggled and rubbed his now-rounded belly before surrendering him unwillingly to the vet. The vet smiled down at her. “We’ll keep him for a few days to make sure he makes it through. He had a rough start after all. You can come back and see him, I promise.”

He whimpered after the girl and her potent emotions as he was carried to the back and bedded down in a cage. It would be so easy to escape, simply let go of this form and flee, but that would lose him the girl and what she offered. It wasn’t a hard decision to make, to let the instincts of his new body pull him down into sleep.

She was back bright and early the next morning, dragging a woman behind her by the hand. The vet let them in to see him and he squirmed towards her on stubby, uncoordinated legs, making pitiful little cries until she scooped him up. The girl’s mother just smiled indulgently and asked the vet how soon he could go home with them.

~*~*~*~*~

Nearly two month later found him toddling after his Vivi on a leash around the park. She left him tied to a bench while she went to a water fountain to fill his little collapsable bowl and he found himself looking up into the eyes of the boy whose form he had borrowed for a short while… and behind him, the _fetch-who-was-not,_ Arthur. Lewis bent to pet him, full of sweet affection and care.

He looked past him to Arthur, who showed no signs of realizing who he was, reaching out a hand to fondle his ears.

Vivi came back and introduced herself while she gave him his water. The boys introduced themselves back and as with as much certainty as she had displayed demanding the vet save him, she told them that they were friends now. When a confused Arthur asked why, she grinned and said, “my dog likes you,” as if that were the end of it. And to her it was. Once she had set her mind to something, nothing deterred her.

She had determined that he was hers the same day she had found him and nothing had changed her mind. So nothing would change her mind about being friends with these two.

He thought that this wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He could keep an eye on Arthur, and at the same time, learn more from him about how to be something new.

He was no longer the remorseless one. He had a name now and a new way to learn how to live. Maybe one day he would teach others what Arthur had taught him. He did not know yet, it was still too new and the one who had set him on his tireless track ages ago might come looking to discover what had happened to him, but for now, he thought he would enjoy the mystery.

It was his name, after all.


End file.
